


Timber

by jiokra



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha loves Steve. He's the bees knees. But frankly she'd also love for him to stop being so sweet and to start fucking her brains out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



> Happy Fandom_Stocking!
> 
> I filled the "Established Relationship" square in my Cap/Iron Man bingo.

Natasha tapped her fingers on a wrench, regarding the busted jet boot with a slight frown. It’d been slow to regain power during the last mission, against the Mandarin of all villains, and it would’ve cost her life had Hawkeye’s aim not been what it was. Her calculations for the boot had been right the first go around, so she was at a loss over how to approach the boot. And Steve’s general good-looking-ness while he sketched off in a corner wasn’t helping her focus.

A light jazzy Christmas carol came out of a vintage radio that Steve had moved into the garage. A gnome had broken in during the night and moved in a tree, too, which was cute, Natasha had to admit. In the days and nights before whatever it was that developed between Steve and her, she’d often gotten drunk and chatted up the prettiest thing at the bar, but this domesticity was nice. A little too nice, but still. It was cozy.

It was sweet how gentle Steve was with her. Charming, even. He was a bit rougher in the wrestling ring while they worked out, and Natasha _swore_ she felt his grip tighten, eyes darken that one time she moaned after he pounded her into the floor and knocked the wind out of her. She’d had a little private time with the extendable shower head afterward, which was a memorable occasion since the burn of Steve’s hands constricting her wrists had been so fresh in her mind.

Clearing her throat, Natasha shifted from foot to foot, remembering where she was, what she was doing. The jet boot needed to be repaired, Steve was casually drawing. She could ignore her other needs for a brief moment.

She got lost in the maze of mechanics, ideas ricochetting in her mind. Nearly an hour had passed, and she was so close to solving the issue. She grinned widely, her eyes closing a bit, and cackled.

“You doing fine over there, Shellhead?” said Steve, pausing with his artwork.

Natasha took the jet boot in her hands and spun around. “More than fine. I think I fixed it.”

Steve eyed the boot skeptically.

“But,” she continued, “I can’t know for sure unless I test it.” Not true, but she really, really wanted to test it for purely scientific reasons.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Is that even safe?”

Natasha nearly stomped her foot. Steve was going all boy scout on her. She wanted to kiss his mouth and nip that concerned look of his face. “Of course not. But it’ll be fun.”

“We haven’t had breakfast. Maybe we could eat something and you could brainstorm how to fix it?” he said. His mouth curled down, and Natasha felt herself mirroring the movement.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Steve exhaled. “You won’t like it. Heck, _I_ don’t because I know it’s ridiculous, but it was… frightening seeing you fall last time. If Hawkeye weren’t there, or the Hulk there to catch you…”

She would have crashed face first into the pointy bit of the Empire State Building. She knew this. They were in the garage now. He knew that. “It’ll be fine, Cap,” she said, smiling.

His countenance was etched with worry, so Natasha set down the boot. That seemed to ease him down because soon he was up and stretching his arms over his head, knuckles in his spine cracking. “I’ll fry up some eggs? We could do it after, and I promise I won’t try to persuade you not to—”

“Up and at ‘em, Captain Handsome! You know how Hawkeye gets over breakfast.”

Steve strode over to her and whisked her into her arms. Or, at least, Natasha made it seem so. She’d earlier that day orchestrated the furniture and robots into specific positions and constructed six clear pathways for an occasion when passion seized them, possibly with Steve employing some of that super strength into pounding her against a desk, or wall, or anything, really. Instead, he gazed into her eyes, soft and full of tenderness, and pecked the tip of her nose. “I love you,” he said, and somehow it didn’t have a sappy ring to it because Steve’s voice was in a perpetual state of pragmatic grumpiness. Which did nothing to prevent an ache from building in her.

In fact, she ought to record it. Play it back a few times in the shower, during the odd mind numbingly boring mission. When she didn’t think she could go another day without a drink. Or when Thor mistook Mjlönir for a regular hammer and decided to hang up a painting, which hadn’t happened yet, but Natasha kept an eye on him just in case.

“Right back at ya,” she said.

Steve gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “Coffee?”

“Of course!”

Steve nodded, then stepped away and bounded over to the entrance doors and left. Natasha listened until the sound of his footsteps disappeared, and counted down from five. At zero, she snatched up the jet boot and snapped it on her foot. Once the other boot was on, she clapped her hands together. She had maybe five minutes to sneak in a test run.

Firing up the boots, Natasha hovered and slowly raised off the ground incrementally. All went swimmingly until about five feet, then the buggy repulsor stuttered, sending her balance akimbo. Without the repulsor in her gauntlets to counterbalance the inefficiency, she skyrocketed toward a wall. She tucked her head under her arms and hoped she didn’t get a concussion out of this.

Her shoulder crashed first, then the shock of it had one hand slipping from her head. She’d definitely nicked her forehead on the wall. Groaning, she stretched out her limbs and laid flat on the floor, bringing a hand to her head and feeling something hot and sticky at her hairline. Pepper was going to have a field day ranting about the amount of foundation and concealer it’d take to hide the bruise. There was a gala — when? Two days from now? Natasha groaned again.

There was faint crash somewhere else outside the garage, and soon enough Steve burst through the doors. Natasha casually turned to him, stealing a peek from between her fingers. Steve stilled at the door, one arm braced over the doorframe. He looked from her to the jet boots.

“I thought— Why d’you—“ He stole his hand off the door and tore a hand through his hair. Then he whipped it off and shook it at Natasha. “What were you _thinking_? Two days ago you nearly _died_ because of those boots. Don’t you value your life?”

Natasha hoisted herself into sitting and removed the boots. “Come on, Cap, it’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad? _Not so bad?_ You’re bleeding! You’re collapsed on the floor! If we hadn’t stopped The Mandarin from melting your— you could’ve— I couldn’t even stop it—“ He gritted his teeth, seething at a space just over Natasha’s head. “You could’ve died. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose another person. Bucky—”

“Was not your fault,” cut in Natasha, dragging herself up and onto her feet. She bit her cheek to stop herself from saying, _And I managed myself fine throughout the years before you came along_ , but couldn’t work out the words. Before Steve’s cheerleading, she’d been surviving each day by glimpsing the bottom of a wine glass. Or getting blown up with her own weapons. Or getting others blown up with her weapons.

It occurred to her that maybe that was why Steve hadn’t made a move on her yet beyond sweet kisses and quiet moments alone. Maybe he was just as scared of ruining things. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt her. But she wanted him to hurt her, and pound her into a mattress while doing it.

The room was heavy with way too many feelings than she preferred. She needed to say something borderline offensive and break the intimacy. “I guess you ought to tie me up to the bed, otherwise I don’t know how you’d stop me from getting myself killed next time.”

Steve’s face softened, the creases on his forehead relaxing. He cleared his throat. “That so?”

Natasha stuck out her hip and set a hand on her waist. “Possibly. Maybe. I don’t know. Would you like that?”

Steve tilted his head and nodded once. “Yeah, I would.”

He blew out a raspy, haggard breath, a bit like a rumpled sob, and -- _oh, wow, get it together, Nathalie_ , thought Natasha, licking her lips as a pressure built in her core. Steve’s eyes hawkishly followed the movement. The pressure started pulsating. If Natasha felt even a sliver of shame, she'd have tried to stop the whimper that escaped her lips, but that look Steve trapped her in ought to be illegal.

Neither moved first, they lunged at the same time.

Lips crashing together, Steve commandeered Natasha with his tongue and arms, steering her toward the direction of the cot she kept in the workstation. A hand slipped up her tank top, warmth searing her skin, but she tore away.

”Wait,” she murmured into his lips, “the notebooks for my latest prototype are on the cot. Let me just clean it."

She whisked a hand over the cot, knocking papers, notebooks, pens onto the floor, then she fell back and dragged Steve down with her. Hands pressed to the mattress on either side of her head, Steve kissed her silly and massaged his thumb on her hip, too far from where everything was wet, throbbing, aching for his touch. If he didn't move farther south, she might actually cry.

In fact, Natasha ought to shed a tear for her past self. She'd somehow managed to piss off Steve and turn him on all at once. That hadn't been eluded to in Captain America comics and she'd been none the wiser. _Patience, patience, it’s—_

"Ohh, Steve, ohh my--"

He stopped kissing her and started nipping at her neck, sucking hard and pulling the sensitive flesh between his teeth, then drew away to blow cold air on the stinging skin. Then he dove back in for another round. Eyes rolling back, Natasha started tearing away at his shirt, which was a tinge vexing because he'd warn a belt and actually tucked the damned shirt in. Growling, she scrambled her hands over the front of the shirt, feverishly tearing away buttons. Soon his broad shoulders and defined muscles -- _Chest hair, Steve is hairy_ , her brain kept trying to process -- greeted her. She dragged her hands across his chest and nipples, settling with scratching her nails along his back. Steve must've liked it because he gnawed on her ear lobe and ripped off her shorts.

Natasha purred, then experienced a moment of clarity. "Did you actually rip up my shorts? Those were designer, you kn— _hmmph!_ ”

Steve pressed a palm into her core. If he wasn't careful, she might orgasm just from that.

"St— _Steeeeve._ “

He raised his head and peered down at her, smirking. "Ah, you should look at yourself. I finally know how you armor must feel. Your pretty blue eyes are staring at me like you do at them."

They didn't for long, however, because she closed her eyes the instant that one of his fingers coyly adventured away from the others and found the epicenter of her delirium. Snickering, he pulled himself back into a child's pose, dragging his chin down her sternum, day’s old stubble searing her. He nibbled his way down her stomach and paused to press kisses over her belly button. Natasha grabbed a fistful of his hair, confused about what to do with her suddenly flailing hands. Steve laughed again, then took away his hand from her core. Natasha cried out in protest, but the words froze on her lips the second Steve's tongue circled her clitoris.

"Sweet Shakespeare,” she gasped. The hand not keeping his head in place fell back to scratch at the wall.

Steve had a strategy. His tongue circled and flicked, then he sucked, then he did something Natasha couldn't process because her brain short circuited and went offline. Meanwhile, his damned hands traced light, teasing figure eights on the soft curves of her inner thighs.

The throbbed turned to a white heat coiled deep within her, neither located beneath Steve's tongue nor far away, and then it just bled into her veins and Natasha felt weightless. Steve must've noticed because he slowed and stopped tracing her thighs, concentration solely on the speed he kept to draw out her pleasure and make it last.

He pressed light kisses on her and rubbed a hand on her knee as her leg started twitching involuntarily. As her body calmed down and sound returned to her ears, Natasha cracked open the eyes she'd forgotten closing and stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

Steve extricated himself and maneuvered between her and the wall. It was a tight fit and frankly Natasha felt bereft at the absence of his touch, so she turned around and sprawled across his chest. Steve pressed a hand to her lower back.

Natasha swallowed. "What was..."

Steve tapped his fingers. "It must be the serum." Then, quietly, in a bit of a rush, he said, "Was it really okay? I was kinda guessing, we hadn’t tried it yet, and--"

"Let's just say," she said, "that if you act like that after finding me almost killing myself, I might stage more suit tests in your immediate future.”

Steve barked out a little laugh, Natasha bouncing a bit as his chest heaved in the effort. "Well, I'm looking forward to it."


End file.
